AN: A drabble of my other fic, Rewind. I'm a bit unmotivated to do my school work, so I decided to write something. Maybe I'll write more in the future, who knows?

If there was one thing his son never ran out of, it was stories and songs.

He could tell tales of magic, adventure, and action that never failed to make children sit still and be quiet. He could weave characters in different colors. People with strange backgrounds and stranger circumstances. Creatures that were more interesting and terrifying than the purest and vilest ka anyone has seen. Places that sounded impossible, even with magic. A kingdom underwater, an island that could fly, a ship that could carry more people in his kingdom and could venture past the sun.

If he's not telling a story, then he's singing a song. In that strange language he had slowly deciphered as his son grew. In tunes and melodies that were different than the music played in festivals or in court. In beats that were alien to him. His son was often regarded as a quiet and reserved child. But he sang and told tales endlessly when around his two childhood friends.

"I still don't understand, why did nobody like her?" Mana asked, leaning forward as his son was telling her another story. Mahad was nearby, reading a scroll, but he knew the young priest was also listening in. If the occasional pause and looking at their direction was any indication. "She sounded a lot like master! Really smart and powerful, and a caring big sister!"

His son never ran out of stories, always willing to tell tales to Mana when she asked. And he never hesitates to sing when she demands it. Mahad never asks, but he often sees his son humming a soothing melody beside him whenever the priest is in his more somber moods. The two of them were probably the only people with the privilege to listen to all his fantastical tales and songs whenever they wanted.

"She does, doesn't she?" his son mused, leaning against the column. Mahad twitched. "It's because her skin is green."

"That's stupid," Mana frowned.

"People can be stupid," he shrugged. "Her skin could have been black and she'd still be hated."

"Why?" she asked, absolutely confused. "She's done nothing wrong, everybody else was just mean to her! Even that Galinda!"

"In general, not many like different… it's hard to understand different, so they shun it instead," he explained. "They think that if they push it away, if they ignore it hard enough, it will disappear."

"That's stupid and lazy," she huffed. "If master's skin was green, I would still like him."

"You still liked me when the prince turned my skin blue," Mahad commented dryly, his son looking at him with an innocent confused look. Mahad just raised his eyebrow. It always fascinated him how different his demeanor was when around his son and Mana. Less polite and more blunt, less careful about his words and actions. More relaxed. He wonders if he would still remain that way once his son will be pharaoh. "But I'm very glad you would like me in three colors. Thank you, Mana."

"I would like you too," his son piped in. Mahad muttered something under his breath, and given the pout his son was making and the snickers Mana was failing to control, he was heard. "That's rude."

"Turning people's skin blue is rude, my prince."

"I didn't mean to!" his son defended. "It wasn't supposed to do that, and I wasn't aiming at you."

Mahad gave him an unimpressed look.

"I was aiming at the statue."

Completely unimpressed.

"I, err, was trying to clean it?"

Unimpressed mixed with pity, it was rather insulting at this point. His son must have thought the same thing, as he pouted harder and looked away. Sulking.

"You really are Elphaba," he huffed.

"I wasn't the one defying gravity over the palace roof, my prince."

"That was only once!"